Tell Me What You Need
by Adelled
Summary: AU. A confrontation between Mary and Eleanor leads to a meeting between Mary and Marshall.


Tell Me What You Need

IPS*IPS* IPS*IPS* IPS*IPS* IPS*IPS* IPS*IPS* IPS*IPS*

Grabbing the shot glass from her hand, Eleanor faced the blonde marshal, trapping her against the slick mahogany bar.

Startled, Mary narrowed her eyes and peered at the person who dared to invade her space, interrupt her ruminations, disrupt her despair. Ruminations? Who says ruminations? Marshall -invading her speech, her mind even when he wasn't here.

"Eleanor, what the hell?" Surprise tempered Mary's wrath. Her outburst would normally be more colorful. The woman seldom spoke to her, they sparred but had few 'conversations.'

Undeterred the woman grabbed both Mary's arms, turning the bar stool. She pressed her face close to Mary's and enunciated slowly, hissing out each word. "What did you do?"

"What?" Mary replied, nonplussed and questioning. Drawing back she deflected, "What the hell are you talking about? Why do you assume whatever is wrong is my fault?"

"What did you say to Marshall?" Eleanor clarified. "In the office." She added

Now truly mystified, Mary stared at Eleanor, checking over her shoulder and in the mirror behind the bar to see if any of the bar's customers were paying attention to the incipient catfight. It was a slow weeknight at the upscale hotel. The wait staff outnumbered the businessmen and guests.

Shrugging herself out of Eleanor's clutches, Mary peered at the woman, checking her pupils for of drugs or concussion. Why had Eleanor followed her to a late night bar?

Eleanor looked at Mary's face and judged that Mary didn't know. She sat back on the bar stool and caught the bartender's attention.

As soon as the bartender left Mary asked "What's going on Eleanor?" She kept her tone light, really wanting to know, pretending it was just a conversation between co-workers.

"That's what I want to know," Eleanor replied as their drinks arrived. Grabbing her whiskey, and taking a large sip, she turned to Mary. "Marshall was sobbing in the locker room."

"What?" "When?"

"Mary," Eleanor repeated, looking her in the eye. "He was crying his heart out into his handkerchief." Handkerchief, Mary's thoughts wandered. Her partner was the only adult male she ever knew to carry a handkerchief. Now she understood why.

Eleanor watched Mary's as her eyebrows lowered and forehead wrinkled in concern. Knowing how protective Mary was of Marshall, Eleanor added, "I don't think anyone else saw him. It was right after you stopped at his desk, then blew through the security gate. I couldn't hear what you said, but Marshall looked like someone shot his dog. I followed him to the locker room. He didn't even notice me. What did you say?"

"Marshall doesn't have a dog," Mary interjected.

Eleanor's glared her reproach.

Sighing, Mary considered and quickly rejected sharing their news with Eleanor. Head back, Mary examined the white pressed tin ceiling, blonde hair spilling down the back of her black leather jacket. Mary realized what Eleanor hadn't seen – the white stick with one line meaning 'not pregnant' buried under trash in the wastebasket.

"I gotta go," she muttered, pushing both drinks towards Eleanor. Slapping a large bill on the bar she muttered, "Thanks."

Her uncharacteristic generosity and civility almost knocked Eleanor off her stool. She watched the blonde hurry through the glass doors to the lobby and out of the hotel.

Glad she hadn't had that second (or was it third) drink, Mary clenched the steering wheel, the pounding in her chest propelling her toward Marshall. She aimed the Probe at the curb and looked at his house. No lights welcomed her. Spilling out of the car, keys in hand, she didn't bother to lock it, knowing car thieves had better pickings elsewhere on the street.

Marshall's house key was in her hand but as she had barely put it in lock when the front door swung open at her touch. Pocketing the keys, she closed the door and quietly called "Marshall. Marsh?" Surprising an armed man was never a good idea. An armed man who was upset, had been crying, was an even worse idea.

"Here, Mare. I'm here." He was sprawled on the couch, a half empty bottle and glass on the coffee table near his feet. Mary tried to remember how much had been in that bottle the last time she saw it. A habit honed by years of living with an alcoholic.

Walking toward the couch, she took off her jacket and stood in front of her partner. Her Mann, the man who wanted to have children – with her. That part she still found hard to understand. She did know one thing.

"This is no time to drink alone. Today happened to both of us." Sadness echoed through her words. She never wanted to hurt this kind, gentle, thoughtful, geeky, bad-ass lawman.

He was touched by her thoughtfulness and blown away by the depth of her sadness. When he had expressed his desire for a family, for a child, she wasn't sure she wanted 'a parasite using her for food and shelter for nine months.' Seeing Marshall's despair, she vowed to do all she could to maximize their chances next time.

Tossing her jacket on a chair, she headed for the kitchen, helping herself to a glass. Marshall had glasses for brandy, for wine, for all kinds of fancy stuff. She cursed having to choose. Just a glass, something, anything, to hold the liquor so she could pour it down and forget. For a while.

"How much have you had partner?" She asked softly as she sat down next to him, trying to assess his sobriety, plan for hangover remedies, arrange to lessen the pain.

"A couple," he replied. "three, maybe four shots."

Pouring herself a healthy dose she said, "You're ahead. I only had two."

"Where were you?" Marshall accused, wondering why she left him to suffer alone. If he was going to be miserable, mourning the loss of a possibility, he shouldn't have to do it alone. In his despair he imagined her out hunting for a new cowboy.

"The.. the Andaluz.' She stammered the name of the upscale hotel with fancy bar. Not a place she would usually choose, but it was close. It was a place Marshall had wanted to take her for some time. She always diverted him to someplace plainer, cheaper, more comfortable. Tonight she avoided their usual haunts. Too many regulars, too many questions and she had no answers.

"So you're out looking for a new cowboy already?" the pain clear in his broken voice. "because this one shoots blanks?"

"We don't know that," Mary consoled softly. "We just started. We'll try again." She wiped the tears from his cheeks, then kissed the tracks they left. "Besides, trying with you is . . . " she stumbled her mind slipping back to a recent quiet night at home. Quiet except for her exclamations of his name, moaned, shouted and finally gargled. She leaned her shoulder against his, then took his hand and intertwined their fingers. "You're the only cowboy for me."

Marshall wasn't convinced, couldn't understand why she had left after dropping that bomb. "Then why go to a bar? Why go without me?" his query tinged with jealousy and hurt.

Realizing she had to be honest, to tell him the truth even if it didn't make sense. "I didn't know how I felt. After Jinx, I never drink alone – at home. Not when I'm .." she searched for the word. "unsettled. I wanted time to sort it out. I should have realized," she paused, taking a deep breath and searching out his eyes.

"You're not alone, Mare, " he sobbed.

Mary fell into his arms and let her tears of loss for what never was join his.


End file.
